


blue skies and white clouds

by sumirufus



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: F/M, Introspection and stuff, Slow Burn, but also not really, like really fucking slow burn, musing about age gaps i guess, so now it's slow burn as hell and i regret everything about my writing, this honestly started as a ship fic then we dove into everything else
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2018-12-05 10:34:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11576301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumirufus/pseuds/sumirufus
Summary: Kliff has never had an interest in girls, not really. -- kliff/silque





	1. an insecurity explodes

**Author's Note:**

> i joked about how their sprites looked good together back in april then i found out they were a couple in the gaiden novel and god dammit here i am

Kliff has never had an interest in girls, not really. He likes Faye and Celica, yes, but they’re the only girls he’s ever really known. Faye’s sweet, but she’s like a sister to him, not really a _girl_ in that way that Gray has talked about _girls_ for as long as Kliff can remember. Celica… Well, he didn’t really know her well enough, since she and Alm spent every waking moment together. Some people, he supposed, were just meant to be together. It’s something Gray asserts too, about those two, how destined they are; lately he’s been going on the same way about himself and Clair, as if Kliff actually cares much about that.

Kliff doesn’t really care about romance or the like. What matters to him is seeing the world, seeing what lies beyond Ram Village. He’s not like Faye, with her transient dreams of going back to that tiny place. Kliff wants more than that, wants more than what awaits him there. The sky is so large, open, and blue. What lies at the end of it, he wonders?

To him, that blue is the symbol of the freedom he craves so badly.

 

* * *

 

Kliff decided to learn the art of magic when they left the village. It’s been an uphill battle, teaching himself, but he’s proud every time he makes progress. No one else from their little village has tread this path. This is his freedom, his difference from the others. His own gateway from his tiny world into a much larger one

That said, the price for magic is pain. Even if he can avoid an enemy’s blade, the exchange for his new ability _hurts_ . Therefore, he’s been forced to spend a _lot_ of time with the cleric they picked up.

 Silque is quiet. There’s an odd aura of peace and tranquility around her that almost unnerves him; he supposes it’s to do with her position. She has such incredible faith in Mother Mila, such calm, and poise in the battlefield. She sticks out in comparison to most other members of the Deliverance. She’s certainly a lot different to the boisterous lot he’s grown up with. And she doesn’t make small-talk. Kliff appreciates that.

 They’ve only really had one proper conversation. It was before they reached the base of the Deliverance, after a skirmish with brigands on the road. They’d been resting, awaiting Silque’s healing; Kliff was honestly a little frustrated how much they had to rely on the cleric. Food and rest weren’t fast enough methods when they needed to make the most out of the daylight, after all. At that point, he still hadn’t gotten a grasp on his new abilities; every burn that formed as a result of the fire he drew forth was excruciating. It wasn’t anything like the training he’d had before; this was real.

 “Kliff,” She’d drawn his attention in that impossibly gentle, yet commanding way. Without a word, he’d extended his blistered hand, and she knelt next to him, the coolness of her own hand and staff a welcome relief to the burning pain he felt. There had been silence as she murmured her prayers, the green glow from her staff enveloping them for that brief time. The hairs at the back of his neck always stuck up when he was being healed, a strange shiver would overcome him. It was magic, of course, but far different to the type he wielded. Somehow, the healing a cleric could perform was entirely more unearthly.

 When she’d finished, to his surprise, she hadn’t stood and moved on as she usually did. Instead, she placed her staff to the side, and reached for his other hand; he was too surprised to jerk away, as he usually would have. Still without a word, she brought his hands in front of him, displaying them palm upwards to him.

 “What are you doing?” The question came out biting, as it usually did. Silque, however, did not react, merely looked at him with her usual serene smile.

 Her eyes were an incredible blue, he realised.

 “Don’t reject it,” She told him simply, squeezing his hands gently. He was uncomfortably warm, sweating almost. What was she implying?

 “ _What.”_

 “Magic, I mean. You are far too harsh on your own body,” Her tone was slightly scolding, but the expression on her face never changed. “You fight with it. That’s why your hands are so hurt all the time.”

 She was giving him advice. Gods, this was not what he expected. He jerked his hands away from her, crossing them obstinately.

 “I don’t fight with it,” He insisted. “I just haven’t got it under my control yet. That’s all.”

 “That’s what I mean,” Silque replied, folding her own hands neatly in her lap. “Magic isn’t something for you to control. Magic is greater than all of us. Attempting to control it will only result in increasingly painful injuries. You must let it flow through you; we are merely channels for such power. You must allow it to be free.”

 The word had a struck a chord in him. Allow it to be free. Like he desperately wanted to be.

 “... Thanks,” The word had been difficult to get out. “I’ll try.”

 It had been curt, stiff, and worryingly flat in delivery. Yet still, she smiled.

“I am glad,” She stood as she spoke, dusting off her robes. “I do so hate to see your hands in such a state.” And with that, she had left.

She’d left a weird feeling in his stomach, too.

 

* * *

 

Grey goes on and on and _on_ about Clair so much that it irritates Kliff, so he just tunes him out when he starts talking. He doesn’t really think about much during these times, just puts himself on auto and watches the world go by.

That’s what he’d like to say. His eyes seem to land on Silque whenever this happens, loathe as he is to admit it.

She and Faye have apparently struck up a friendship. He wonders how in Mila’s name Silque managed to get past Faye’s _incredibly obnoxious_ crush on Alm, but honestly, he’s thankful. He’ll never admit it out loud, obviously, but he does care for Faye. He’s glad she finally has a female friend their age.

Tobin laughs at him when he mentions that. “Silque’s older than us,” He tells him, and suddenly Kliff feels _weird_ again, in a different way. Suddenly the advice he received from her takes on a new light, it’s not a conversation of equals, it’s him feeling like a child again. It’s not fair of him to think that, he knows that, because Silque would never look down on someone for any reason. But there’s a renewed drive now; improve, get stronger. He’s not that mewling child hiding behind Tobin anymore, no, he’s a soldier, he’s stronger, he can do things himself. He can fight.

And that line of thinking, that overestimating of his strength is what leads him to, essentially, blow himself up.

 

* * *

 

 

When Kliff awakens, he can see the sky.

He blinks, then realises it’s actually Silque’s eyes. She looks deeply concerned, but some of the tension leaves her brow when she realises he’s woken up.

“Can you hear me?” She questions. Kliff blinks slowly, and then manages a croak. Instead of laughing, like he expects her to, she closes her eyes and clasps her hands.

“Thank the Mother,” She sighs. “Thank the Mother you’re alive.”

His gut clenches and things feel _weird_ again. It doesn’t get any easier when she reaches over to help him sit up and he realises he’s been stripped down to his smallclothes. His injuries must have been _awful_ for the need for this, and he flushes with shame and anger at himself, and at his situation. He doesn’t know if he’s annoyed or relieved that Silque is simply acting as normal. It’s infuriating, being the only one flustered by this.

They’ve apparently set up camp in a nearby shrine, judging by their surroundings. He’s been given a makeshift bed of all the available blankets, with another wrapped up beneath his head for a pillow. The two of them are alone, he realises. Oh gods.

While he’s been thinking about such _inane_ things (who is he, Gray?), Silque has retrieved a waterskin, and offers it to him. With shaking hands, he tries to take it, but it falls from his grasp. _Pathetic._ Yet, she doesn’t say anything, she simply repositions herself, supporting his head, and helping him drink. Again, he’s been reduced to a child in front of her. He almost wants to cry with frustration, like he did all those years ago, all the time. Why does this always happen in front of Silque? Is he just destined to be eternally pathetic in front of her?

When he’s finished drinking, she helps him lie down again. In spite of his turbulent emotions, he still feels weak and sore, and lying down again feels better. Silque settles herself next to him again, placing the waterskin next to his pillow, before turning her attention to him. This time, however, she looks stern; now that her initial relief has worn off, Kliff imagines he’s in for a lecture.

“How could you be so reckless?” She scolds him. Kliff looks away, to the torches, to the stones, to anything that isn’t her eyes. “You could have _died._ ”

“I didn’t though,” He mutters, still hoarse, although it’s a half hearted denial even to him. He knows she’s right. He knows he put himself in too much danger. But he doesn’t want to keep being weak in front of anyone, especially her. There’s another part of him snarking “you just look more immature, doing this”, but right now he’s too busy--

“Don’t sulk,” Silque admonishes, and a part of him curls up and dies. “Only the Mother can say how you’ve recovered so quickly from such awful wounds. You had us all worried sick, Kliff. Why do you feel the need to push yourself so hard?”

Silence falls over the two of them for what feels like an age. He doesn’t know what to say to her, doesn’t know how to justify his injuries without spilling all his insecurities. And he really, _really_ doesn’t want to do that.

Thankfully, his friends appear before the situation can get any more awkward. Faye _throws_ herself at him, bawling her eyes out, she’s so glad that he’s alright. Tobin and Gray manage to drag her off him before she “chokes him to death and finishes the job” as Gray puts it, but the two of them are relieved too, he can tell. Even Alm has appeared to check on him. It’s oddly nostalgic, having everyone fuss over him like this. But it’s still frustrating, because he’s supposed to have changed. He’s more mature than all of them put together, he knows that for a fact, and yet he’s still the child of their group. He’s still not good enough.

At some point during the ruckus, Silque had slipped away. Kliff isn’t sure whether he’s relieved or not.


	2. letters home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’d just told him she’d been abandoned as a child. Left all by herself. Kliff isn’t sure how to respond to this information; as much as he dislikes his mother, he’s always had one. He’s always had a family. What he can say to Silque in response, he doesn’t know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> featuring faye! i wish we'd seen more of her with the other kids, she deserved much more from the writing in-game

Magic may aid the healing process, but Kliff is still sore even days after, too sore to move properly. Alm refuses to let him fight in his condition, still covered in scars from his last battle. For once, he doesn’t want to argue. He’s not in the mood for people, even fighting next to them is too much. Another half of him is chiding him because he’s being childish again, but he can’t bring himself to care at the moment. He’s nursing more than a wounded body, after all.

Despite his desire to be away from people, he feels stifled by his environment. The air in the shrine is clammy and oppressive; not only that, but he can faintly hear the Terrors roaming through the halls, their inhuman gurgles and screeches chilling him to the bone. He knows they don’t have many options for places to camp out; Alm would never put nearby villages at risk by harbouring them for more than a few hours at a time. With Kliff so badly injured at the moment, hiding away in the depths of a Terror “guarded” as Alm put it, or “infested” as Tobin put it, shrine, was a move they’d have to risk.

He hasn’t been left alone, of course; he’s not the only one who has sustained injuries during their advancement on Rigel. There’s also the people who have stayed behind to aid the injured, which of course, means Silque. As awkward as that feels for him, to his immense relief, Faye volunteered to stay behind to help too, which means he’s seen a lot more of her than Silque. It’s a small comfort during his cramped stay.

That doesn’t mean he’s free from being lectured, though.

“I still can’t  _ believe  _ you!” Faye wrings water from the cloth she’s holding and presses it to his forehead. “You used to be so shy and cute--”

“I was  _ not. _ ”

“Now you’re so grumpy and mean,” She huffs, smacking his arm lightly. “And stubborn. And you want to escape from us as soon as physically possible.” As she’s speaking, she pulls her legs up to her chest, resting her cheek on her knees. “Don’t you want to go home, Kliff?”

“No way,” He snorts, rolling his eyes as hard as he can while lying down. Faye sticks her tongue out at him. “Going back to that place is like a nightmare for me, Faye.”

“Because of your mother?” 

He thinks back, at that; at the woman whom he lived with, but couldn’t say he  _ liked.  _ He thinks back to her controlling attitude, her constant sheltering, the way she talked down to him all the time. It makes him angry, so he stops.

“A little bit,” He struggles to sit up for a moment, then gives up and lies back down. “It’s too damn  _ small  _ there, too. I think you’re crazy for wanting to go back.”

“I think you’re crazy for wanting to leave,” She replies. “Where would you even go if you didn’t come home?”

“Don’t know. Everywhere. I could get a boat off Valentia and never come back,” He muses, staring at the moss growing in the ceiling, imagining the gaps between them as the vast sea he’s never seen. Faye squeaks in horror.

“No! No, no, you can’t!” She sounds so offended that Kliff snorts. “You can go anywhere but you  _ have  _ to visit! … Or at least send letters. Please. We’ll miss you.”

Silence falls over the two of them; idly, Kliff realises this is the longest conversation he’s had with Faye in years. It isn’t unpleasant, if he’s being honest with himself. He supposes he’ll miss her too, if he leaves. But as much as he loves the people he’s grown up with (Mila take him if he ever says that aloud, he’ll never live it down), they aren’t enough to tie him to Ram Village. Nothing is.

“Pardon my intrusion,” Silque’s voice echoes. Faye rises to her feet, smiling at the new arrival. It’s the first time Kliff’s seen her so happy to see someone aside from Alm; he has to admit, he’s a little impressed with Silque. 

At the same time, he’s jealous of Faye, for how easily she can interact with someone older than her as though they’re equals; she’s lucky she’s never been babied as much as Kliff has.

“Not at all, Silque! What’s the matter?” Faye practically  _ skips  _ to greet her. Silque, in turn, smiles that impossibly gentle smile. 

“It’s about time for me to change Kliff’s bandages,” She explains, nodding briefly at the patient in question. He simply nods back, unsure of what else to do. 

“Do you need help doing it?”

“It’s quite alright. However, I believe Lukas is struggling with preparing food for everyone by himself… Could I trouble you to help him?”

“Of course! Thanks for letting me know,” Faye makes her way to the hallway that leads to the Mila idol where their main camp lies. Before she exits, however, she turns back and sticks her tongue out at Kliff once more, a gesture he returns. Silque is still giggling when Faye fades from sight.

“You two get along well,” She remarks, supporting him as he struggles to sit up. He frowns. 

“Not really.”

“Oh? It certainly looks that way to an outsider.” Once she’s guided him to the wall, she begins rolling up his sleeves (he’d been provided with baggier clothes than usual once he’d woken up, to make first aid easier) and unravelling the bandages that are beginning to show spots of blood and dirt. Kliff watches her work with deft fingers, movements so gentle he doesn’t feel any additional pain. He supposes she’s used to such work, being a cleric. 

“I overheard what you and Faye were speaking about,” She says eventually, as she begins applying a foul-smelling medicinal syrup to his healing burns. He wrinkles his nose, partially due to the stench, partially due to her comment.

“I gather you think I’m crazy too,” He mutters, suppressing a shudder. Gods, that stuff smells  _ awful _ . 

“On the contrary,” She replies. “I think it’s admirable you’d like to see the world. It takes courage to reach beyond what you’ve known and leap into the unknown.”

“You make it sound more impressive than it actually is,” Despite his words, his mouth quirks into a half-smirk. “I just really hate my village.”

“That’s as good a reason as any,” Silque asserts, finishing the wrapping on his arm. She looks right at him after that, right into his eyes, and his stomach goes  _ weird _ again. How does she do that so often? “Not everything must come from some great purpose.”

“What about you, then?” It comes out more accusatory than he intends, but if Silque noticed, she doesn’t show it, merely moves on to his other arm.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a servant of Mila, you’re always talking about her. Doesn’t devoting yourself to her give you some kind of great purpose in her name?”

To his immense surprise, Silque  _ laughs _ , a genuine laugh, not a mocking one. Her hands shake with it as she finishes working on his arm, and he feels almost  _ embarrassed _ , as though he’s asked something incredibly stupid and childish. Again.

“Not at all,” She manages eventually, still laughing slightly - despite that, there’s a sadness to her tone she can’t hide. “Perhaps that is true for some of her children, but nothing so grand for me. Mila saved me, long ago. My mother - my birth mother - left me at her sanctuary when I was young, and thus Mila became my Mother. I’d like to spread her blessing to those I meet, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Is all he can manage in reply as she lifts his shirt and starts on the most embarrassing (in his opinion) part of changing his bandages. He hopes he isn’t sweating as hard as he feels he is as she works on the burns on his chest and back. For once, however, those thoughts are secondary.

She’d just told him she’d been abandoned as a child. Left all by herself. Kliff isn’t sure how to respond to this information; as much as he dislikes his mother, he’s always  _ had  _ one. He’s always had a family. What he can say to Silque in response, he doesn’t know.

“I am finished,” She pulls him out of his thoughts with that, dropping his shirt back down to cover him (thankfully). “How do you feel?”

“Okay,” He answers blandly. He really hates that medicinal stuff, but even he isn’t so rude as to protest against it when it’s so important. She nods, and helps him lie back down in his makeshift bed. He wishes his recovery would speed up so this wouldn’t be necessary. Once he’s settled, Silque picks up her supplies and turns to leave.

“Ah,” Before she goes, she turns, like Faye before her. Unlike Faye, however, she smiles. “If you do travel, I’d love to receive letters from you. I’m sure you’ll find many incredible places in the future, and I would be grateful to hear about them from you.”

For that moment, he feels valued. He feels equal. It’s not like hearing it from Faye, or anyone else; he’ll always be the baby to them, but Silque is different. 

He’s still trying to work out exactly why that is long after she’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think silque and kliff are strangely similar and different at the same time, about their mothers. it's something i've been thinking about a lot


	3. advice exchanged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It occurs to Silque, as the silence resumes, that she has heard a very personal thought from Kliff. She wonders why he’s comfortable enough to share these thoughts with her -- perhaps he’s simply too frustrated to care at the moment. But she’s glad he’s chosen to; she feels privileged to be privy to such thoughts from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took forever, i'm so sorry... i'm trying to aim for at least one chapter every two weeks from now on!

Silque’s day begins with the sunrise.

As the first light of dawn spills in her tent, she pulls herself from her makeshift bed, splashes her face with water from a tiny, cracked bowl, and dresses, before her duties for the day begin. She is used to rising early given her upbringing in the priory, but her daily tasks as a member of the Deliverance are very, _very_ different from morning prayers back home.

The scent of blood isn’t nearly as prominent as it was before, but it still hangs in the air with the groans and gasps of the injured. Already, other clerics have arrived, tending to various soldiers and mages; it’s a regular routine for them all now. Silque takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the smell of the medicinal syrup (Mother above, that stuff smells awful) and begins her work.

By the time the rest of the camp can be heard moving outside the medic tent, Silque has changed more bandages than she thought the convoy even _had._ She’s not sure where all these medical supplies came from (she assumes Lukas made sure to stock up, he’s very diligent that way) but she is grateful, and she is sure the wounded are too. Magic can only fix so much, after all; it is not a permanent solution to a serious injury.

“Silque,” a hand on her shoulder draws her attention away from the bandages she is about to dispose of. Another cleric, a young girl who enlisted with her brother, smiles back at her with tired eyes. “You need to eat. I’ll take over for now.”

Silque blinks and realises how empty her stomach is. The information also makes her feel a faintness she must have been pushing back since she started her work. Murmuring a quiet thank you, she allows her to take the bandages from her and sees herself out of the tent into the fresh morning air.

It’s like stepping into a different world, when she leaves the wounded behind; the sun blinds her temporarily, its brilliance a welcome change from the musty, depressing atmosphere of the tent. When her eyes are able to focus again, she’s met with an altogether unusual sight. It’s certainly making her question if her hunger is making her see things.

“You’re doing it all _wrong_!” Luthier proclaims in an entirely too dramatic fashion. Kliff’s expressions don’t often change, but there’s a tenseness to his body that indicates he is severely irritated. (Briefly, she wonders how she understands this; it must be because of Faye.) The two of them are obviously training together; they are the only mages in the army, after all, and Silque can only offer so much help when her magics are so closely tied to the Mother.

She hasn’t been noticed yet, so she inches closer, trying not to draw attention to herself. She doesn’t like the way this situation looks.

“Your posture is wrong, your energy is wrong, your form is wrong,” Luthier rattles off and Silque winces. She’s aware that the army’s newcomer is bad with people but this is… More than anticipated. She feels like she’s watching a wild animal when she looks back at Kliff; his tense posture and bunched fists speak volumes about his mood. Oblivious, Luthier continues.

“You’ll bring shame to the art if you continued such unrefined casting,” He folds his arms. Kliff’s knuckles are white, Silque can see that from where she’s standing.

That’s quite enough, she thinks. Before Luthier can continue his tirade, she steps firmly towards them.

“Kliff,” She’s grateful her voice was strong enough to draw the pair’s attention to her. Maintaining as much serenity as she can, she takes hold of Kliff’s shaking hand and looks him in the eye. As she expected, his brow is furrowed and his eyes are turbulent; Alm wasn’t exaggerating when he mentioned that Luthier was dense. Thankfully, her presence seems to relieve some of the tension from Kliff’s shoulders, and when he ducks away from her gaze, she turns to Luthier.

“Sister, you are interrupting--”

“I think,” She cuts him off firmly, but not unkindly. He withers regardless. “It’s time that Kliff had his injuries looked at. If you’ll excuse him for a while, Luthier, I must do my work.”

Despite her words, she gives him a look that he seems to understand this time.

“I,” Luthier blinks. He takes a moment to process her words, before he lets his arms fall to his side and sighs. “I apologise. You’re right. I’ll take my leave.”

“Thank you,” She nods as he retreats back to the camp. Once she’s sure he’s out of earshot, she turns back to Kliff, who appears to be sulking now. Gently, as though guiding an injured soldier, she leads him to a tree stump near by and pulls him down with her as she takes a seat. She’s surprised that Kliff hasn’t pushed her off, but she’s also grateful he’s allowing her to take care of him. His fist is still bunched up tightly under her hand.

Silque isn’t really sure where to go from here. She can imagine why he’s so angry (Faye might not like gossip, but she _does_ love talking about her friends, so Silque has become acquainted with various traits of theirs from her stories) and she can’t say she blames him. She’s pleased she managed to get to them before things escalated, at any rate. Tensions run high as they approach the sluice gate, and the Deliverance can’t afford any internal problems in the light of such an important battle.

The silence seems oppressive. And so she sings.

Quietly, hesitantly, she turns her gaze to the sky peeking out between the trees above. It’s nothing fancy, just a simple hymn to Mila she’d learned with other clerics at the priory in her youth. When she, or the other youths, had trouble sleeping as a child, she remembered a Sister singing it as a lullaby to soothe them.

When she finishes, she turns to Kliff again. The look on his face is the very picture of incredulity, as though she’d just sprouted another head, and although it’s embarrassing, she laughs. He looks _ridiculous_ with that expression on his face.

“ _What._ ” It’s not a question. Kliff truly looks as though he’s entered a parallel world. It might not be the reaction Silque intended when she sang, but whether he realises it or not, the tension from his hand has faded under hers. That, at least, can be counted as a victory.

“I learned that hymn when I was young,” She explains. “It calmed me when I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to pry, and so I thought this might help.”

He falls silent again, though he nods slightly in response. It’s a relief, that he appreciates her intent, even if it surprised him. The only sounds now are of their breathing, and a few birds chirruping in the distance, but to her surprise, it’s not an uncomfortable feeling. She hopes Kliff would feel the same.

“It’s frustrating,” Kliff mutters, after what seems simultaneously like an age, yet no time at all. “Being treated like an _idiot_ by an idiot.” Silque has to physically suppress her snort -- she tries to look disapproving, but Kliff’s bluntness truly does catch her off-guard. Kliff is a sharp contrast to the gentleness she’s been raised with in the priory, and it’s not unwelcome. “He’s been raised to be a mage, I know, and I know my magic isn’t _as good_ ,” The words come out through gritted teeth. “But being belittled like that isn’t going to make it any better. He’s so uppity and full of himself, and he’s _hopeless_ at anything that isn’t magic -- who is he to order me around like he’s a royal? He treats me like I'm a kid he has to coddle when magic's all he's got on me."

It occurs to Silque, as the silence resumes, that she has heard a very personal thought from Kliff. She wonders why he’s comfortable enough to share these thoughts with her -- perhaps he’s simply too frustrated to care at the moment. But she’s glad he’s chosen to; she feels privileged to be privy to such thoughts from him.

“I understand,” Absently, she strokes the back of his hand with her thumb. “And I do think Luthier was wrong in his words. That said, please remember… His sister has been taken, and in danger. He’s obviously wound up very tightly,” Kliff grunts in response. Silque takes that to mean he acknowledges what she’s saying, and so continues. “I’m sure he’d appreciate your understanding. He’s the only one of us who can properly offer you advice, after all.”

“Can’t you?” It’s a half-hearted attempt to get out of facing Luthier again, she can tell. She wonders if listening to Faye talk about her childhood has made her more perceptive to the children of Ram Village. “You did before, right?”

“There’s only so much I can offer,” Silque’s voice is firm. She fixes her gaze onto Kliff, though he isn’t quite ready to make eye contact in return. “The magic I use is directly tied to my faith in the Mother, and functions differently from the magic that mages use. I could help you at the start, but you’ll need a mage’s help to advance further.”

Kliff lets out a sigh, finally retracting his hand. Silque finds herself clasping her hands on her lap once he does, as if to fill the gap she feels. She doesn’t have time to consider why before Kliff starts talking once again.

“I know,” He’s almost visibly deflating before her eyes. “... I’ll talk to him later. Happy?”

Despite the biting tone of his voice, Silque smiles. He may be indignant about it, but the fact he’s agreed to do something means he truly did listen to her advice -- and considering how prickly Kliff is known to be throughout the Deliverance, she feels a sense of pride in him for being willing to listen to her, even if she doesn’t truly understand why.

“Thank you, Kliff,” He snorts derisively, but doesn’t comment further. Satisfied for now, Silque begins to stand --

the world spins. Her vision fades for a moment, and she stumbles backwards, disoriented. She’s vaguely aware of Kliff saying something, and moving to catch her before she hits the ground, steadying her back with one hand, the other gripping her arm.

She blinks as her sight slowly returns, the light seeming entirely too bright. Her head is spinning, and her stomach feels like a gaping hole.

_Ah_ , she thinks, almost absently. _Breakfast._

“Silque, answer me!”

She’s been so absorbed with her reorientation to the world, she hadn’t even realised Kliff was talking. He looks surprised, an expression she hasn’t seen on him before. Guilt eats at her for concerning him, especially when he has already had a rough morning.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t eaten yet,” She explains, steadying herself with his support, before gently pushing his arm away when she can stand herself. “I was on my way to eat when I saw you both this morning.”

To her surprise, Kliff _groans_ , fixing her with a harsh frown. She feels like she’s being scolded, somehow.

“Are you an idiot?” He demands, and she flinches. “You of all people need to eat, Silque. Come on.”

He takes hold of her wrist, not entirely unlike how she took his earlier, and drags her along after him, in the direction of the mess tent, without even waiting for her to reply. Once she’s processed what’s actually going on, it takes all her strength to suppress a laugh -- she can’t stop the smile growing, though.

“You’re a gentle soul, aren’t you, Kliff?”

“Ugh _._ ”

This time, she does laugh, even when he tells her to _pipe down_.

( _“He used to be so cute,” Faye grouses. “He’d follow Tobin around and hide behind him,_ and _he used to help me make flower crowns! Now he’s such a grouch.”_

_“You sound like his sister,” Silque laughs, and Faye sighs heavily._

_“I feel like it,” She admits. “I know you’re looking after him right now, so just… Don’t hate him. Please? He’s no Alm,” She shakes her head. “But he’s still important to me. Even if he’s all grouchy now, he's still a good person . Just don’t tell Kliff I said that, please.”)_

She thinks she understands what Faye means, allowing herself to be lead by Kliff, vaguely aware of him telling her off for not eating.

Perhaps this is what having a younger brother is like. Silque can’t say it’s entirely unwelcome.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this chapter didn't come across as too harsh on luthier... i love the poor sap. i think he and kliff would get along horribly, and so they must be friends. they must. that may be a hint for future events.
> 
> and yes, silque's hymn is a direct reference to the ending song of echoes, even if it's not that she's singing. 
> 
> meanwhile, kliff gets brother-zoned! he's not really aware of it yet though! i'm sure that definitely won't come back to bite later! no sir!!


	4. mila's ordeal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even if he body breaks, she must heal them. She must protect them.

The heat of battle is not where Silque belongs, but nonetheless, she fights as best she can with the strength she has.

Tobin and Gray guard her as she chants her spell, staff clutched in shaking hands as the cries of war rise around her, the sound of blades clashing a dissonant harmony. She closes her eyes to shut out the horrors, seeking the Mother’s power through her weapon, through her heart; the spell she murmurs against the orchestra of chaos is difficult, _painful_ \-- it is something she has only recently gained the power to use, but this is _war_ and she has no time to slowly adjust to the power.

Light flashes upon her incantation, and Silque’s world spins; a supporting arm from Gray keeps her upright as she watches the illusory soldiers born of her own life advance through her blurred vision. Gray lets out a low whistle as he observes them.

“That’s pretty crazy magic,” He concludes, too casually for a battlefield. “You hanging in there, Sister?”

“I’ll be fine,” She replies weakly; thankfully, the world is returning to focus, and so she gently pushes his arm away. Tobin has already advanced, following the phantasmal dread fighters. “Hurry, Gray. He’ll need your support.”

“Got it,” He winks at her (she recalls Faye grousing about how frivolous Gray is, always breaking hearts left and right, and can’t say she doesn't understand) and gives a little two-fingered salute as he turns. “Try and fall back for a while, if you can. No one wants you to push yourself. It’d suck if we lost our best cleric!”

He’s gone before she has time to reply, hurricane that he is. Still, that’s fine; the soldiers around her have thinned out considerably since she began her casting, and Silque is grateful for the space to breathe. The sluice gate looms in the distance, a grim reminder of how important this battle is, for so many. For the safety of Zofia, for their cause of march into Rigel, and more personally, for Luthier’s sister.

It is ironic, then, that thoughts of the young mage distract her from seeing the danger she poses.

She senses the world _warp_ in a way that makes her feel even more sick than her own spell; it’s as though the world has dropped, a sound ringing in her ears so low and dissonant it takes all her strength to fling herself to the side as fast as she can and not roll into a ball and wail. The energy cast at her slams into the ground, sending chunks of earth flying; she uses the opportunity of the dust and grit rising to scramble to her feet, staff clutches in her hand, the beginnings of Nosferatu on her lips.

Her opponent is a girl, a young mage, _Luthier’s sister,_ but she doesn’t have time to think about that now. Just as the words leave her mouth for her one and only offensive spell, she sees the magic gather around the tome the girl holds, twisting the air around them in a way that feels _deeply_ wrong. Her own incantation falls short, _just_ \-- the exertion the magic takes on her body hasn’t been eased since the battle began, and she is paying the price now. The tug of energy on her body informs her one of her spectres is coming back for her, but she is not sure how long she can last, unsure if she can stay conscious long enough for the phantasm to even begin to aid her.

She realises, dully, that she might die if she’s not careful.

The realisation is punctuated by her opponent's magic slamming directly into her body, and she goes _hurtling_ into the ground. The breath is knocked from her, and her vision blurs -- yet, she moves desperately to pull herself to her feet. Her legs scream, and she’s certain something, _many_ somethings are broken.

But Silque cannot die here. Silque has a duty to the people she protects in this army, and she _will_ protect them. As long as her heart still beats, the Mother will guide her, and she must use her blessings to protect those around her.

She cannot afford to catch her breath; the atmosphere around her twists again -- her opponent is casting. Silque wobbles on her feet, the screaming pain in her bones preventing her from running -- she curses quietly under her breath as the air grows tainted again, she won’t make it, she won’t make it unless she can _run_ but her leg--

There’s a whinny, wing beats, and shouting she can’t quite make out. Warmth soars over her back, and before she can register what’s happened, the grass by her feet is alight, and someone has grasped her, pulling her away from the flames. The world spins again, but as her vision steadies, she realises help has come.

“Are you alright, Sister?” Luthier looks exhausted even as he steadies her, but defiance lights his gaze. The tension seeps away from Silque’s body immediately, relief flowing over her like a wave.

“Somehow,” She manages weakly. “Thank you for coming.”

“Save your thanks for Faye,” He explains, looping his arm around her shoulder. “She noticed you alone back here and brought us to help.”

“Us…?”

Luthier nods, looking somewhat pained.

“Myself, Faye, and Kliff.”

So he did not come alone. Silque manages a glance over her shoulder -- it has only just occurred to her that no magic has come their way. The sight that greets her would be comical, had it not been for their situation. From what she can make out when Faye guides her pegasus down in elegant dives towards the young mage, Kliff has one arm clamped firmly around her waist, the other raining fireballs down onto the grass, close enough to deter, but far enough away to prevent any injury. The young mage -- _Delthea_ she finally recalls as adrenaline fades from her head -- shoots off spell after spell, but Faye has taken to pegasus riding more quickly than expected, and elegantly weaves through the sky.

It would be a more elegant display, perhaps, if she could not vaguely make out Kliff and Faye shouting at one another. Silque can’t help a laugh, weak and rattled.

“Here,” Luthier rummages is his robes, producing a small parcel, wrapped in cloth. “It’s not much, but eat this. Regain some strength.” He presses it into her hands, and fixes her with a serious gaze. “I can’t stay with you.”

“Go,” Silque nods, shrugging his arm off of her. The tone of his voice tells her all she needs to know -- she won’t keep a brother from saving his sister. “I will heal you from behind.”

Her body shakes without support, but there is no time to focus on her own wellbeing, not when they have come for her. As Luthier runs to his sister, Silque bites into the bread he has left her. It’s not much, truly, but she will be able to cast a few more spells with this energy. Even if he body breaks, she must heal them. She must protect them.

Silque closes her eyes, and inhales. She feels the wind brushing past her cheeks, the grass beneath her feet, she hears the sound of Faye’s pegasus and the crackles of Kliff’s fire, she hears Luthier’s cries for Delthea, she hears the swords of their soldiers clashing so far from where she stands.

The Mother walks with her.

Faye’s shriek draws her from her moment of contemplation. She has a job to do.

Delthea’s magic must have hit her mount point blank. It is as though time has slowed down, watching the bodies of her allies fall from the sky. At that height, they will surely die if they hit the ground. Her heart sinks and then everything speeds up again -- her legs scream in protest but she _runs_ as fast as she can manage across the blazing grass. Dimly, her vision registers Luthier trying to bait Delthea from corner of her eye, but she can’t focus on their bout right now, the only thought running through her head is _catch them!_

She won’t make it. Not like this.

Her knuckles turn white, nails biting into her palms as she grips her staff. Her chanting is not perfect -- should she cast this clumsily before an enemy, she’d be killed in an instant, but she does not need spectres to fight right now, just to _catch them_ . Every moment feels a thousand years, and yet no time at all as she prays to the goddess, harder than she has ever prayed before, to let her _save them_.

Luthier screams her name.

Her casting finishes, and the dread fighter leaps -- it will catch them, it will. But what of Faye’s pegasus? Her consciousness slipping, she whirls to the tug on her soul; at last, the one that turned back for her has arrived. Two-- two will be enough to catch all three knocked from the sky, won’t it?

Silque doesn’t have time to process anything after that; the _warp_ of the world returns and she realises too late _why_ Luthier called her.

The magic hits her full force, and Silque’s flies backwards, hitting the ground with a horrific _crack_.

The last thing she recalls is the advance of Delthea before her world fades into nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! It's been a while! My personal life has been super busy and confusing for the last few months. Thanks for waiting! I know this chapter is a little shorter than the others, but in my defence I'm really bad at writing actions scenes. Still, this battle isn't something I want to skip over. 
> 
> On that note, I should be able to update a little more regularly from now on! I'm not the fastest writer, but hey, it's something. I promise it won't be *checks watch* like 8 months before the next update, lol
> 
> This fic is turning out to be much longer than I originally planned, so I expect it's gonna span several in-game years. thank you for your patience with me. And especially thank you to G, who gave me a lot of motivation to come back and update this even though it's been a while. Hearing people wanting to see what comes next makes me want to work hard.
> 
> And for the record, Kliff and Faye are arguing over whether or not Faye can 'drive this thing properly'
> 
> I hope you guys will stick with me and my disgustingly bad upload schedule! See you all next chapter!


	5. an eye for an eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's an update schedule. can you eat it

The first time Kliff wakes up, he feels as though he’s just died.

_ Everything  _ hurts. His muscles scream at him, his bones ache, and his throat feels like sand. There’s a horrific pain in his head that makes him want to vomit when he moves. Sights and sounds are eerily muffled, but strangely  _ too much _ ; from what he can make out, a cleric comes to tend to him and his immediate muddled thought is  _ Silque?  _ but her voice isn’t the same, and there’s a part of him that feels tense about someone unknown tending to him, but before his mind can even truly register that fact, he passes out again.

His dreams overlap with reality every time he wakes up; Mother is there, hovering, smothering, and he’s stifled and needs to  _ breath _ but his legs betray him, keeping him fastened to this tiny bed in his tiny room in the tiny village he’s dragged back to every day of his life. Mother approaches, a whole gaggle of Mothers holding his limbs as he thrashes about, and then sleep comes to claim him again.

When he finally wakes up proper in the medical tent, he doesn’t feel much better than he did the first time.

He’s covered in bandages again.  _ Fantastic.  _ He feels as though he’s only just been released from his previous embarrassment, and now he’s here again. Taking a deep breath, Kliff hoists himself upright as slowly as he possibly can, a strained exhale accentuating the movement. Everything still hurts, but he’s not going to make a scene. Judging from the noise and clatter coming from behind the crudely hung drape separating him from others in care, the clerics must have more on their plate than just him after that battle.

His head throbs. The battle… Yes, the sluice gate. What happened? Kliff squints, as though staring a hole in the thin sheet covering his legs will give him the answers. Predictably, it doesn’t.

Kliff sighs again, and with a grunt, heaves his legs over the cot he’s been occupying, and wobbles to his feet. The room spins for a moment and he thinks  _ gods damn it _ before he thunks to the floor again. The noise attracts a cleric, a tiny thing -- probably even younger than him -- with mousey hair and wide, terrified eyes who immediately ushers him back to the cot and shakes violently as she stutters that he absolutely should not be moving about right now. As much as Kliff wants to bite back, he’s really in no position to, so he resigns himself to staring at the tent’s fabric fluttering as he waits for  _ something  _ to happen.

“I see you’re finally awake.”

_ Something,  _ as it turns out is the appearance of Luthier. Kliff suppresses a groan; as much as his head is swimming right now, he easily recalls the fact he hasn’t actually spoken to his…  _ Tutor _ , as it were, since their spat before arriving at the sluice gate. He hadn’t really been banking on Luthier to be the first person to come and see him after… Whatever it was that happened to him.

“What’s it to you?” He mutters. He can almost hear the admonishment Faye’s going to give him later when she catches wind of this, but quite frankly, he is too exhausted from whatever he’s been through to care about future scoldings he’ll get.

There’s an awkward moment of silence after that that feels as though it lasts a lifetime. Kliff wishes Luthier would just  _ go away  _ if he doesn’t have anything to say.

“I wanted to thank you,” He says eventually. “For saving my sister.”

Of all the things Kliff expected to hear,  _ that  _ was entirely off the list. 

“Excuse me?” 

Luthier makes a noise of discomfort, looks away, folds his arms, sighs, and then -- with visible effort -- forces himself to meet Kliff’s eyes. 

“Granted, it was an incredibly sloppy display that would make every mage of decent talent roll in their grave but--” 

“This sounds like a  _ great _ thank you,” Kliff cuts in bitterly. Does he  _ really  _ need this social-maladapted moron to lecture him the  _ minute  _ he’s woken up? He recalls Silque asking him to extend understanding, but right now he’s tired, and sore, and he doesn’t want to hear it.

To his credit, Luthier stops himself, taking a moment to adjust his robes (entirely unnecessarily, if you ask Kliff) before he speaks up again.

“... Apologies. I… That isn’t what I came here to say. What you did for Delthea is something I must thank you for from the bottom of my heart. You did very well in a very stressful situation. I’m not certain I’d have been able to do the same, in your position,” At last, he pulls his gaze from the ground to fix Kliff with the most sincere expression he’s ever seen on the older mage. Frankly, it’s a little uncomfortable, but he supposes he’s simply unused to sincerity from those outside the group of villagers he’s used to. “Thank you for saving Delthea from something she could not have come back from.”

The silence that follows is uncomfortable for a number of reasons, but what’s  _ most  _ upsetting is that, actually--

“... I don’t remember what happened.”

Luthier chokes on his own inhale.

“You _ what? _ ” Oh, his face has gone the same colour as his hair, that’s fun. Kliff stifles a snort, because as much as he wants to laugh at Luthier, now’s probably not the time. He’s got to give him some credit for being so sincere, as much as he sort of never wants it to happen again. In response to Luthier’s horrified squawk, he gives a vague shrug and gestures at the bandages covering his body.

“I’ve been at death’s door for days, forgive my memory for not being up to scratch.” He’s really pushing it with these snide comments, but it’s hard to tone it down in front of Luthier. 

He’s going to leave it at that comment, at first, but this whole situation makes him think of Silque’s words to him before the battle -- about the stress Luthier has been under until this point. It takes him a moment to process, but his mind finally comes to the conclusion that, maybe in this particular circumstance, he shouldn’t be so much of a jerk to a man earnestly thanking him for helping his family, regardless of whether or not he actually remembers doing it. Mother Mila knows if anything happened to Faye, or Tobin, or Gray he’d be similarly rattled, even if he’d never tell them that.

(It unnerves him momentarily how easily he has forgotten to include Alm in that list.)

“... Sorry,” He mutters. “But I really don’t remember anything past the three of us going back, so…” And then, it finally occurs to him that they went back because a cleric had been left alone and panic seizes his heart. “Are Faye and Silque alright?”

Luthier bites his lip. Kliff’s stomach lurches.

“The two of them are still unconscious, last I heard,” He says, finally. “As is my sister. Sister Silque is under intensive care under the Saints, though Faye should be elsewhere in this tent.”

“Intensive care? Luthier, what  _ happened? _ ”

“A great deal,” He heaves an incredibly tired sigh. “To put it simply, Delthea knocked you and Faye from the sky. Sister Silque expended a great deal of energy to conjure spectres to catch you, at which point she became the next target.”

There is a pause, then, in a much quieter tone: “Had you not cast Excalibur during your fall and incapacitated her, I fear Delthea would have killed her.”

The silence that lingers over the two of them is heavy. For once, he can understand where Luthier is coming from, because it’s something Tobin had ranted to him about once; that once the first life was taken, there’d be no going back.

Kliff hates to admit it, but it sort of improves his opinion of Luthier,  _ just  _ a little bit. He’s not sure what kind of person his sister  _ really  _ is, but if she’s anything like her brother, then she deserves to choose to fight, and not to have it thrust on her.

“I,” Kliff begins, stops, picks at his bandages, then forces his head up to meet Luthier’s gaze. “I’m glad I could help. Even if I don’t remember it.” Another pause. He feels small right now, somehow; even though it’s Luthier -- older and unfortunately more experienced as he is -- thanking  _ him _ right now, Kliff doesn’t know how to handle it. It’s so unusual for him to have the validation he’s seeking given to him, even more unusual to have it from someone he’s done nothing but clash with since the moment they met. It’s…  _ Nice _ , but simultaneously feels like he’s in one of the horror stories Gray used to tell them all as children.

The silence is awkward, and Kliff very nearly offers a prayer when the mousey cleric darts back in with eyes as wide as saucers to announce she has to change his bandages. Luthier offers a small nod, and turns to make his leave. Before he vanishes, however;

“You, um. You did well, casting the way you did. Especially in such a situation,” His tone is halting and awkward, and Kliff would snort if he didn’t also have so much trouble being nice to Luthier. “You’ve improved a great deal, Kliff. You should be proud.”

And then he’s gone.

Kliff certainly isn’t going to let anyone know about the smile his words have put on his face.

* * *

It takes another two days before Kliff is cleared to walk again. He’s still denied combat for now,  _ of course _ , but at the very least, being freed from the cloying smell of blood that permeates the medical tent is a welcome improvement. 

The first thing he does is check up on Tobin and Gray (though he doesn’t tell them that) -- neither of them were too badly injured, that’s good, though Gray sports a bandage around his head in place of his usual headband that makes him look much less like himself.

He finds out from them that Alm is fine, too, though Kliff never had any real reason to believe he wouldn’t be. Again, he wonders when he stopped thinking of “Gray, Tobin, and Alm”, and changed to “Gray and Tobin, and then Alm”. He’s not certain how he feels about this obvious split, but he’s got other things to worry about now. 

The next thing he does is ask about Faye. According to the clerics, she hasn’t woken up, but she’s stable. Most of her injuries have been dealt with, a woman with bags under her eyes assures him, and she should be fine when she regains consciousness.

Lastly, he asks about Silque. The answer to that question is not as reassuring as he would like.

The cleric explains it like this: though most of her injuries from battle were standard, Sister Silque overworked her body through the use of her magic. He understands the basic principle -- all magic in Valentia is an exchange between the caster’s life, and the world. Using spells beyond your ability is an easy ticket to exhaustion at best, death at worst. Healing magic, he’s learned, becomes even more weighty than elemental manipulation, because the healer must interact with their patient’s lifeforce, and ensure the transfer does not harm them. This forms the principle of the Nosferatu art that clerics learn; instead of giving, Nosferatu  _ takes  _ lifeforce. Furthermore, this is how the spectres Silque summons are given form -- by taking her own lifeforce, and expelling it into physical form.

What Silque had done in their battle had nearly drained her of life entirely. Kliff feels like he could throw up just hearing that. 

It’s not just that he doesn’t want someone he actually likes to die. No, it’s more selfish than that, and he hates himself for it, but he doesn’t want to be the reason she dies. He thinks of what he could have done differently -- if he’d gone back earlier, if he’d been a little faster, a little stronger, a little more skilled--

“Will she recover?” He asks, voice shaking. The cleric can’t even muster a smile in return.

“Can I see her?” He asks instead. He tries to tell himself it’s so he can tell Faye how Silque is when she wakes up, but his selfish thoughts mock him even as he says it. 

“... Usually I wouldn’t allow it,” The cleric says. “But it might be good for someone she’s familiar with to be there. She might be conscious, even if she can’t reply…” Even as she says it, Kliff knows it’s only to placate him, but he’ll take it.

Silque is being treated in a tent away from the other clerics. He can see why the moment he lays eyes on her.

Her face looks exhausted, even as she sleeps, her skin sallow, and her arms thin. She looks  _ small _ , Kliff thinks, and that frightens him because she’s still taller than him as he is now. She barely looks alive, more bones than human, and if he had a weaker stomach he thinks he might  _ really  _ vomit this time. 

It’s not that he hasn’t seen death. Of course he has. This is war. But he’s never seen death quite like this. Different from the corpses on the battlefield, different from the Terrors that stalk the night, how Silque appears here, not quite alive, but not quite dead, chills him to his bones.

_ Your fault, _ his mind sneers at him.  _ If you’d been good enough, this wouldn’t have happened, would it?  _

All the relief he felt from Luthier’s thanks have left him. Right here, right now, seeing someone he  _ knows _ , someone who has  _ helped him _ , waiting at death’s door?  _ Your fault, your fault, your fault, _ his mind crows at him, and he almost strikes his own cheek if only to make it stop.

He spends an hour by her bedside, but can’t muster a word. He does not ask the clerics if he can go back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> while this is a kliff/silque story at its heart, exploring their relationships with lots of other characters, and their relationships with themselves, is really important to me..... im so sorry. we're in for the long haul
> 
> i also feel like i want to go back and rewrite the earlier chapters because reading them again kind of makes me want to die. thanks for putting up w this when the first few chapters were That Bad good fuck. i honestly didn't have much direction in terms of where i wanted to take this fic at the start, but i feel like my course is a little more clear now. if i do go back and update, i'll leave notes to show what's been updated if anyone's interested.
> 
> thank you for reading, as always! i hope the fic will be like. better from here on out

**Author's Note:**

> i'm garbage for younger guy/older woman type ships sorry mother
> 
> let's see where the hell this goes shall we


End file.
